THAT evening Tom took a scrambling meal in the cuddy; it was the last
that he had aboard of the _Nancy Hazlewood_.
The darkness came on early, and the wind still held as heavy as ever
when night fell. At that time the ship was very low in the water
astern, and Tom did not expect her to live till morning. Even to this
day it is a mystery to him why she did not founder long before she did.
It was plain that even the sailors themselves felt that there was no
hope; they were dull, lifeless and spiritless. Those who were not
working at the pumps, stood around the forecastle, or lay in their
hammocks; all were quiet, excepting where one or two were talking
together in low tones.
Of course, there was no sleep to be had for Tom that night. He
had stood by the pumps since early in the morning, and was nearly
exhausted, for there were times when he could feel the water washing
around his waist. One after another the men would drop the brakes,
altogether done up, but there was no chance for him to leave his
station and get a little rest. Jack had done nothing since his
encounter with Captain Knight, the afternoon before. Captain Knight
himself did not come out of his cabin, so Tom seemed to be the only
officer in charge of the ship.
“Shake her up, lads! Shake her up!” cried he, whenever there were signs
of flagging at the pumps, and he repeated these words so often that he
began to say them mechanically.
So the weary night dragged slowly along, and at last the dull light of
the morning came, and the _Nancy Hazlewood_ was still afloat. One by
one the things stood out in the pallid light of the dawning; first of
all the black troubled field of water was seen, sharply marked against
the slowly greying sky; then came a faint light across the flooded
deck, against which the men stood out as black as ink, as they worked
at the pumps.
About eight o’clock in the morning Captain Knight came upon deck again.
He, Jack Baldwin, Mr. Wilde (the surgeon), the boatswain and one or two
of the men were standing on the poop together. No attention was paid to
these men standing aft the quarter deck, and Tom could not see that any
orders were given, for the helm was lashed, keeping the vessel before
the wind.
Tom left the pumps for a minute or two, and slipped into the cuddy for
a dram of rum, which he very much needed. He found that the cuddy was
awash with several inches of water. He took the dram of rum, and then
looking around his state room he saw his sea-chest, and opened it and
took out his watch and purse. He slipped the watch into his pocket, but
the ship giving a sudden lurch at the time, he dropped his purse. He
smiled when he found himself groping in the swashing water for it, for
he could not take it with him where he expected that he would have to
go.
The men had left the pumps when he came upon deck again. A crowd of
them were standing foreward, some on the top-gallant forecastle.
There was no drunkenness amongst them, and Tom found later that the
spirit-room had been fastened securely, and in good time, which was
about the only timely thing that was done in the whole business. He did
not order them to work again, for there could be no use in it. Indeed,
there had been but little use in it for some time past, and the only
reason that he had kept the pumps going was because it seemed better to
be doing something than to stand still, waiting for death. But Captain
Knight gave no orders to lower the boats, and Jack Baldwin did not seem
to care whether they were lowered or not.
At this time there were only two boats left. The whale-boat had been
stove in the night before, and all of the cutters were gone but one. A
part of one of them was hanging by the stern falls from the davits. The
mate to it was good, however, and, with a pinnace, capable of holding
maybe thirty men at a pinch, was all that was left of the six boats
that the _Nancy Hazlewood_ had carried with her when she first started
on her cruise.
Tom saw that there was no prospect of Captain Knight’s giving the
order to have the boats cleared away, so he went aft to the poop, where
the captain stood, and touched his hat to him very respectfully.
“Captain Knight,” said he, “the ship’s sinking, and I can’t keep the
men at their work any longer. Shall I get the boats cleared away?”
“They won’t work, you say?”
“No, sir.”
The captain took a pinch of snuff. “Then let ’em drown, and be d—d to
’em—the mutinous dogs,” said he. And he shut the snuff-box lid with a
snap.
“But, captain—” began Tom.
“Mr. Granger,” said the captain, sternly, “I wish to hear no more. When
I want to have the boats lowered I’ll give the orders, and not till
then. You hear me?”
Tom turned away, sick at heart. He still hoped that the captain meant
to have the boats cleared away, but in his heart he felt that he
intended nothing of the kind. The men had gathered aft when they saw
that Tom was talking to the captain. When they heard what came of it, a
deep groan arose from them.
About half an hour passed, and nothing was done. At the end of that
time a number of men who had been talking together, went over to the
pinnace and began clearing it away, and Tom saw that they were about to
lower it.
Nothing was said to them at the time, and no one interfered with them.
He went forward to where they were at work, after a while, for he felt
that he might be of some use to them. The boatswain was amongst them,
and he asked him to join them, as they needed an officer. But Tom shook
his head, for he could not bring himself to leave the ship. It was
false pride on his part, for he should have gone and have done what he
could. If Jack Baldwin would only have lent a hand with the other boat,
he would not have hesitated, I think.
Well, it was a misfortunate piece of business, and there is no use in
making more of it than need be. The boat was lowered safely enough;
but, in spite of all that Tom could do, a number of the crew, maybe
thirty or more, jumped into her from the ship, and she was swamped
almost immediately. Most of the men came climbing back again; but, to
the best of Tom’s recollection, eight or ten of them were drowned at
this time. No one but he seemed to care very much for this; no doubt
they felt that it was only a question of a few minutes, earlier or
later.
When Tom went back to the poop, Captain Knight met him with a sneering
smile. “You had better have let the matter alone, Mr. Granger,” said
he; “their blood be on your head.”
Now, Tom had put all the restraint upon himself that he could. He had
felt all the blunders and mismanagement that had brought them to this
pass as deeply as ever Jack Baldwin could have done, and had also felt
that most of the fault lay at Captain Knight’s door, but he had never
been anything but respectful to the captain, nor had he ever let a
questionable word pass his lips. But now, feeling the loss of the poor
devils that had been drowned in the pinnace resting heavily on his
mind, this speech was too much for his patience. He walked straight up
to Captain Knight and looked him squarely in the eyes.
The captain looked back at him for a little while, but presently his
eyes wavered, and he turned them aside. Then it was that a certain
vague thought that had been floating about in Tom’s mind, took shape
and form. At first he rejected the thought, but the longer he looked
upon Captain Knight the more he felt sure that his surmise was right.
At last he spoke:
“Look here, sir,” said he, sternly, “you’re not fit to be where you
are. You’re not in your right mind—you’re crazy.”
Captain Knight looked up. His face was white and his eyes uncertain,
and, for the first time, Tom noticed how bloodshot they were. Tom was
standing within arm’s length of him, and presently he saw that his
fingers were sliding furtively toward the pistol in his belt. Tom kept
his eyes fixed upon him.
“Take care,” said he, as quietly as he could, “don’t touch that pistol.”
Then Captain Knight drew his fingers away. “You mutinous scoundrel!”
whispered he, in a trembling voice. But he did not look directly at Tom
when he spoke; neither did he again attempt to draw a pistol.
Tom stood looking at him without a word for maybe half a minute. He
felt that if he turned his eyes away for so much as a second, he was a
dead man. So he stood without moving. At last he spoke again:
“Captain Knight, give me that pistol.”
The captain looked from side to side.
“Captain Knight, give me that pistol,” he repeated, and very sternly.
He held out his left hand as he spoke. His right was clenched, and if
the captain had made a dangerous movement, he would have smitten him
down where he stood. Captain Knight looked up for an instant. He must
have seen the resolve in Tom’s face, for he slowly drew out the pistol
and put it into his hand.
“Now give me the other,” said Tom. And once more the captain did as he
was bidden. Tom went to the side of the ship and threw both pistols
overboard. When he turned around the captain had gone into his cabin.
Tom never saw him again.
It was not till all was over that he felt what he had passed through.
So long as he had faced the captain his purpose had kept him braced to
what he was doing, but now his hands were cold and trembling nervously.
All of the ship’s crew had been looking on at what had passed, so he
tried to appear as cool as though nothing of any account had happened.
He went up to where Jack Baldwin was standing. “Jack,” said he (but his
voice trembled a little in spite of himself), “you’re the chief officer
now. For the Lord’s sake, give orders to get the cutter cleared away,
for there’s no time to lose.”
“I’ll give orders when I choose,” said Jack, roughly, and he swung on
his heel and strode away.
Tom was struck all aback, for he could not think at first what he had
done to touch Jack’s feelings. Presently Jack came back to him again.
He stopped close in front of him, and folded his arms.
“Look’ee, Tom Granger,” said he, “I suppose you think that because you
got the better of that d—d sea dandy, you can get the better of me. You
needn’t think that you’re the cock-of-the-walk because you took the
barkers away from him. I could have done it easy enough, if he hadn’t
taken me unawares. I’ll not deny that you _did_ get the better of him,
but I want you to understand that you’re not to lord it over me on that
account. I’m the chief officer here, and I’ll give my orders to you,
and not take them from you. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.”
Then he turned on his heel again and walked away.
But Tom had caught some insight into Jack’s mind, and he could not
but feel a certain contempt for him, for this was no time for little
jealousies and heart-burnings. He did not say anything to Jack, for
there could be no use in answering such a speech, so he walked to the
mizzen-mast without a word, and stood leaning against it, looking
ahead. All of a sudden Jack went stumbling down the ladder from
the poop, and forward amongst the men. Tom saw him a little while
afterward, talking to the boatswain, and then he knew that he was
thinking of lowering the cutter. He was glad that Jack had so far
swallowed his ugly pride, for it was a pity that all of the men aboard
of the ship should drown, when some of them might get safely away.
I say that he was glad, but there was a bitter feeling, too, when he
thought of others being saved, while he was to be left to drown like
a rat in a box. His pride would not let him run away from the ship to
take his chance in the cutter, but, all the same, his thoughts were
very bitter. About this time he saw that those of the crew not at work
about the cutter were throwing many loose things overboard. He saw the
side of a hen-coop near to the ship; “I shall keep close to something
of that kind when she goes down,” said he to himself. They were a good
hundred miles from land, but the thought did not seem as foolish to him
then as it does now, for a man clings to his life as long as he is able.
Presently, Jack Baldwin came aft. He went to the lashings of the wheel
and put the helm over, so as to give the cutter a lee, but he never
looked at Tom for a moment. Just as he was about to leave the poop,
however, he turned suddenly, and came straight across the deck to him.
“Tom,” said he, gruffly; “will you take a try in the cutter?”
“Not I,” said Tom.
“Why not?”
“One officer’s enough for the boat; it would be cowardly for me to go!”
He spoke bravely enough, but I am compelled to own that his courage was
only of words, and not of heart.
“Look’ee, Tom Granger,” said Jack, fiercely; “do you mean to say that
I’m a coward?”
“I mean to say nothing about you,” said Tom, calmly; “you know your own
reasons for leaving the ship better than any other man. If you’re going
for the sake of the crew, you’re no coward; if you’re going for the
sake of your own skin, you are.”
Jack looked him very hard in the face for a moment or two. “See here,
Tom,” said he, at last; “you know the old saying;—‘each man for
himself, and the devil take the hindmost;’ don’t be a fool; go with us,
you’re a better hand at managing a boat than I am.”
“I don’t care to go.”
“Very well, my hearty; suit yourself,” was all that Jack said, and he
swung on his heel, and left the poop.
Tom saw him a little later standing beside the cutter with a heavy iron
belaying pin in his hand, so as to keep the men from crowding into the
boat. The men had a great notion of Jack’s strength, and maybe it was
this that kept them back, for Tom saw no movement in that direction.
About five or ten minutes before the cutter was lowered, and about
half-past ten or eleven o’clock in the morning of Thursday, the 26th,
the ship was slowly settling by the stern. Any one could see that
there was a great change in the last half of an hour, and Tom began to
be afraid that she would founder before they could get the boat away.
He went forward to where Jack and the men were busy at work.
“If you don’t lower away pretty soon, it’ll be too late, Jack,” said he.
“Tom,” said Jack, turning to him, suddenly, “don’t be a bull-headed
loon in such a matter as this. Come, and take your chance like a man;
there’s a place in the cutter yet, for I’ve taken care to save it for
you.”
Poor Tom was only a mortal man, and his life was very sweet to him at
that moment, when there seemed so great a chance of his losing it.
Therefore, he could not screw the words of refusal from his lips;—he
could only shake his head.
“You won’t come?” said Jack.
“No!” roared Tom; “didn’t you hear me say no? Are you deaf? No! I tell
you; no! no!!”
“Now, by the eternal, you shall go, and that whether you want to or
not!” said Jack, and as he spoke, he flung his arms around Tom, and
undertook to drag him into the boat. Jack had never measured his
strength with Tom before, and it is altogether likely that he found him
to be stronger than he had any notion of, for, after struggling with
him for a little while, and not being able to throw him down upon the
deck, he presently began singing out to the boatswain to come and lend
him a hand, as there was no time to lose. So the boatswain came, and
in a short time they had lashed Tom’s arms and legs so that he could
not move. As soon as they had done this, they heaved him heels over
head into the cutter, and then stepped in themselves, and all hands
lowered away immediately.
As soon as the boat was in the water, it began drawing under the
channel of the ship, and was in great peril of being stove, but the
boatswain and two others got out oars, and shoved her off. But no
sooner had they pushed the cutter away, than she began drawing in
again, for there was a suction that was bringing her right under the
stern, which would have been sudden death to every man in her, so they
brought the oars to bear once more. At that time the crew of the cutter
seemed more afraid of being drawn under the stern of the ship than of
too many men jumping into the boat; for the matter of that, Tom saw
only one attempt to keep any of the crew from boarding, and that was
just after the boat had been lowered into the water.
A poor fellow attempted to slide down the falls from the davits, but
the boatswain pushed them to one side, so that he would have fallen
into the water if he had tried to jump. It seemed to Tom to be a
horrible thing to cut away the last chance that the poor man had for
saving his life; he begged hard for him as he hung from the davits, but
the boatswain said that the cutter was already full, and that even one
man might be enough to swamp her. I suppose that the boatswain must
have acted according to his light, but Jack Baldwin, who sat looking on
without speaking, should have seen that the man was taken aboard.
The second time that the boat was pushed away, its head came around,
and they were soon pulling from the port side of the ship.
When those aboard of the _Nancy Hazlewood_ saw that the cutter was
clear, and was likely to get away, they cheered and waved their hands.
I can hardly bear to write of this, even now;—it made Tom Granger cry
like a child.
The boatswain sat next to him where he lay. He chewed hard at the quid
of tobacco in his mouth, as, lying on his oars, he looked back at the
sinking ship, and at his messmates standing on her decks. I think, from
what some of the sailors afterward said, that they would have been
willing to put back to the ship, and have taken off a parcel more of
the crew, but nothing of the kind was done.
So every one lay on his oars and looked back; just then the sun shone
out, pale and watery. Tom could see the vessel very easily from where
he lay. The fore-top sail was still standing, and also half of the
main-top sail. The yards on the mizzen were swinging about with the
braces loose, and her bulwarks were as sound as when she left the
docks. Her stern was low in the water, and her bow was standing so high
that her red copper bottom could be plainly seen.
Soon they ran down into the trough of a sea, and the _Nancy Hazlewood_
was hidden from sight; when they came up again, she had changed her
position. They could not see the after-part of the vessel, though it
might have been hidden by a sea, and not under water. By the pitch of
her masts the ship seemed to be sitting at an angle of about forty-five
degrees. Just then another sea came, and again they ran down in the
trough of it;—when they came up the _Nancy Hazlewood_ was nowhere to be
seen.